Page 29 of Dream Reaper

Then a small voice called back, “No. I’m not Brynja. She isn’t coming.”

Jerrid’s heart sank, but he quickly shoved the emotion aside to brood over later. The voice that came out of the darkness sounded young, like a child’s voice. What the blazes was a child doing in the Shadewood this time of night?

“You best come closer to the fire,” he called gruffly. “It isn’t safe.”

The shadow slunk closer. As it approached, the fire cast light over two small pairs of shoes, tattered pants, and then an equally grubby tunic. At last, the figure’s full form stepped into the firelight.

It was a boy, hardly more than five or six years old, with reddish-brown hair and more freckles than seemed proper for one single person. He smiled tentatively at Jerrid, his cheeks round and smeared with dirt.

“I came to see you.”

Jerrid gaped at him. “Does your mother know you’re out here? What are you doing by yourself?”

“I came to see you,” the lad repeated, as if that explained everything.

“That’s…very nice. But where are your parents?”

The boy trudged closer. Jerrid set his makeshift spear down, his gaze flitting over the shadows behind the boy. Surely, he couldn’t be out here alone…

“Oh, they’re back at the camp. They’re probably looking for me by now. It’s almost my bedtime, you know,” he said cheerfully, still smiling. “My name’s Roar. What’s yours?”

“Jerrid. And do you mean to tell me you ran away and came out here all by yourself?”

“Yup. I wanted to see the dragon.” He leaned around Jerrid to get a better look at Echo, his eyes widening in wonder. “Well, now, ain’t she a beaut! Look at those claws! They’re bigger than my head! And those teeth—what chompers!”

He stumbled forward with hands outstretched as if he meant to pet Echo.

“Those teeth can tear curious little boys in half,” Jerrid warned, catching him by the back of his trousers and yanking him to safety. “She isn’t usually dangerous, but she’s hurt, and an injured creature is dangerous because they don’t always know what they’re doing. Hasn’t your pa taught you that?”

The boy grinned up at him, hands slipping into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Nah. He doesn’t bother with that. He does teach me magic tricks, though. My da’s a magician! And a bard. And so many other things.”

Jerrid didn’t know what to make of that. Humans didn’t have magic. Everyone knew that. Although he supposed some people might argue that dragon shifters were a kind of magic.

Personally, he thought it was more of a curse.

Dragon chuckled long and low in the recesses of his mind, and Jerrid shook him off with a growl.

Not now!

“Can’t I pet her? I’ll be real quiet.” Roar took a tentative step forward, but Jerrid caught him by the back of his trousers again and hauled him away, much farther this time, putting the bonfire between them and the sleeping dragon.

“No petting,” Jerrid growled. “At least, not until she wakes up. She’ll tell us if she wants company.”

The boy’s gaze flew to his. “She can talk? Crumbly biscuits! I didn’t know dragons could talk!”

Jerrid’s mouth twitched at the childish expletive. “Ah, no, they can’t talk exactly, but if you pay attention, all creatures can tell you what they need. You have to learn to speak their language.”

“Oh! You speak dragon, then? Do it for me! Do it! Is it lots of roaring and growling, like this?” He threw his arms out to his sides as if they were clawed limbs and began to growl loud enough to wake the dead.

Jerrid clapped a hand over Roar’s mouth and dragged him closer to the bonfire, shoving him down. “No, nothing like that at all. Now sit still and be quiet while I decide what to do with you.”

Roar grinned again—did he ever stop smiling? “Oh, you don’t need to do anything with me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure your ma will have a thing or two to say about that,” Jerrid retorted dryly.

He imagined the poor woman ransacking the camp, looking for her missing child.

Somebody would get a good licking over this, and he hoped it wasn’t him.